Tweedle Lee Dee Dee.

St. Patrick's Day has got to be one of my favorite holidays. There's beer and day drinking and a parade and legends of tiny men with pots of gold and everyone dresses up in green and you get to pinch the non-compliant... all of my favorite things AND socially sanctioned violence!!

This year, at the invitation of Ms. Seana O'Neill (Irish names do not get more legit than that), we decided to participate in the Tweed Ride. We got all dressed up in tweed, hopped on our bikes, and took over the roads in downtown Lexington. Group drunk driving has never been so fun.

Luckily no one got hurt and no one got arrested. That's not to say that no one crashed their bike in the middle of the road or that no one got in trouble for laying in a stranger's yard to look for four-leaf clovers.

We met a few new interesting people, some with very old timey facial hair, some with toy cameras, and one who was driving her special kind of crazy around downtown to espouse the health benefits of smoking. Yes, you read that right. Her dad never would have died from COPD if only he'd kept smoking. Her van is a rolling campaign for smoking.

In a moment of "better judgment," we ditched Lynda the Smoking Lover and headed to McCarthy's to toast the Irish. I thought I was drunk until I went into McCarthy's. One old guy talked to me for about 10 minutes before I finally had to say, "It seems like what you're saying is very important to you, but I literally do no understand a word coming out of your mouth." To which he replied, "grengngheljhlblarerebgbjljheerersnsghshsrghgh." I think the old lady he was with peed her chair too.

McCarthy's was just bad enough to give us sense and just good enough to be a good ending. We got to watch the UK game and as we started heading home, a real Irishman gave us the accent and wished us a happy St. Patrick's Day. I was in bed by 10:30, and my hangover was completely gone by the time I woke up. The luck of the Irish.